maggiethecat

Hello, my name is Maggie and I am addicted to aprons. Let me restate that: it may be a fetish rather than an addiction. Yes, I wear them because I am a messy cook and I long ago realized that grease and tomato sauce are the quickest way to wardrobe ruin. I see them too as art, artifact and the best possible reason to own a sewing machine, yards of rickrack, piles of patterns and enough one yard remnants to wrap the Sears Tower in a Christo-like installation. When I was a child the Christmas Bazaar at church always had an apron table -- stacks of those hand-smocked gingham beauties. I think they fetched a dollar. I buy them now in "antique" malls for twenty times as much, studying the details so I can replicate them for the women on my Christmas list. (Who knows if they wear aprions? Who cares? They're getting an apron anyway.) I whip up studly bib aprons for more favored men in my life and have actually sewn children's aprons . (No, I don't care what message this might be sending to small girls; everyone needs an apron.) I'm thinking about copying an apron my mother bought a couple of years ago at a Christmas bazaar at a local Ukrainian parish: a Ball Apron. It's a tiny flirty black organza and lace number, aflutter with little red bows. I can guarantee he'd like this one.

You've reminded me of how we transport our haul from Caputos, where we do much of our greengrocer and staples shopping. They offer the empty produce boxes as well as the standard bags, and we go for the boxes every time. They fit nicely in the trunk, hold a ton, don't break or buckle, and are easy to unload from the car.

This thread is a treasure trove of great ideas. Thanks, all. After years of potlucks I have two words: Deviled Eggs. One handed, go great with beer, and they will be gone before you have a chance to worry about the mayo/heat thing. They take nicely to a garnish (um, I make mice: tiny black olive eyes, and a chive tail) but a benediction of paprika works well too.

I had never, until Dave told me about the cockroach/paper bag phenom a couple of years ago, given it a thought. As a veteran of horrid cockroach-infested college digs it gave me furiously to think, but in thirty years of paper bags I've never seen roach one. Whole Foods paper shopping bags are the top of the line for comfort and practicality -- I can put out my paper recyclables in them -- but I hit Whole Paycheck maybe four times a year. My daily groceries are toted home in the plastic variety, and because I'm a sububanite the "handles" make dragging them from the car to the kitchen easier than the handle-free earnest brown paper bag. I hate them, but do all I can to reuse them for disgusting stuff: kitty litter, doggie poop when Willa was still with us. Actually, I use them for lunch bags too. I'm temporarily living in what must be the most PC city in North America -- Ottawa-- and I've noticed the checkers always ask: "Do you need a bag?" It's amazing how much I can stuff in my tote. I've also noticed how many shoppers do come with string bags and cloth totes at the ready for their groceries. I think of this as a city thing: people who stop at a grocery store on the way home in a city are more likely to have blocks to walk and lighter loads then SUV driving sububan folks who shop fewer times a week. I agree that Trader Joe's baggers are the greatest in the universe. How hard would it be for other chains to infiltrate the TJ Bagging Course and teach their folks how it's done?

Ottawa has to be the schwarma capital of North America, which makes sense because of the long-standing Lebanese presence here. Does anyone have a fave schwarma place? (I have to admit that Garlic King near the market has tickled me, because of the crazy delivery van he has. I have no idea if his food is any good.)

This strikes home with me: a Tale of Two Cities whose names begin with O. I'm in Ottawa right now, and it's mayor is decrying its lack of "Swagger." I'm noticing its lack of restaurants. There are pseudo pubs galore, shcwarma joints are a dime a dozen, and there are a couple of places, like The Urban Pear, who Try. But it's the same old story: when my foodie cousin came to visit my mother in Hospice and wanted to take me out for a nice lunch we headed across the river to Quebec. In Orlando The Mouse dumbs things down now and forever. In Ottawa the Civil Service mentality and the PC lifestyle may be to blame. But: I am not dissing Ottawa as a great place to cook. There are fabulous butchers, cheese and charcuterie stores, and Byward Market, where I scored local fiddleheads and ramps last week. It occurs to me that what the two Os have in common is kid friendliness. In Orlando it's all about tired overstimulated kids and chain restaurants. In Ottawa it's about Montessori schools every other corner, earnest home cook Moms and Dads and Stanley Cup playoffs. (Go Sens!) Las Vegas is deliberately setting out to be a food Mecca and (try as it may) it's not a Kiddie Town. If you've got the bucks, the bling and no one who needs a high chair there are outposts of Haute Cuisine. I know these are blanket statements as big as Utah, but it's the best theory I can offer right now to link the dismal restaurant cultures of the two Os.

I am murderously jealous of anyone with access to a wealth of rhubarb. Just so you know. But chutney, to me, is always a mental tastebud thing. You want your sweet, your spicy, your hot, your fresh. I agree that ginger and rhubarb are soulmates. I would toss in some diced onion, a couple of jalapenos, some sultanas, a diced apple, a little brown sugar, some red pepper flakes, some cider vinegar. Maybe a finely diced sweet red pepper. If I had rhubarb, that is.

Now there's a sig line! Someone grab it right now. I'm glad it tasted good.

Holy Heck! I had no idea. The "Ramp Lady" in the market in Ottawa has her stand only Thursday, Friday and Saturday so maybe she's spending the rest of the week gathering the endangered little busters. But in no way does it seem to be on the a list here in the Ottawa Valley. In fact we bought more today and sauteed them with quick-blanched fiddleheads in beaucoup butter. It made me think that may not be such a terrible thing.

OK, ramps sauteed in duck fat with comfit duck is scandalous. (Especially accompanied as they were with potatoes fried in duck fat.) I'm offf to rest my arteries. Wiggling into a little black dress tomorrow might be a challenge.

Yes. that was twelve bunches for five bucks. They're on the small side, so I'll be making them all. My uberfoodie cousin Cort arrived to visit my mother in the hospital, and he made a suggestion that made me change my plan. He, like me, has never tasted a ramp, and I discussed the bacon fat sautee method. He said: "The only thing better than bacon fat is duck fat." Ta Dah! I'm situated withing a ten minute walk of a fabulous butcher (where I bought the veal scallopini this morning.) I've just returned with a comfit duck leg and a pint of rendered duck fat (a pint for five bucks -- that's affordable luxury!) So, I'm going to sautee them in a little duck fat, cook up the leg, and garnish with the meat. Is there any way this can be bad?

I bought twelve bunches of ramps at the Byward market for $5.00 (CDN.) I've never handled the little chaps before and I wanted to make sure that we cook the green part, as per scallions, not just the white bits as per leeks. A risotto, I think.

I was taught horizontal then vertical when I was about ten, and it's second nature. In fact, it's a cooking chore I still enjoy, watching those pretty little cubes roll from my knife. But to each his own -- whatever's easiest and most logical works.

I've come to know that if a knife doesn't patinate or rust I don't really want it. Other knives simply don't get as sharp, no matter the skill and equipment of the cook sharpening them. My mother's in Hospice and I'm cooking from her kitchen. The only sharp knife in the drawer is a birds -eye paring knife, which is fine in its way but can't cut a pocket in a flank steak or dice some mirepoix. My mother's knife of choice is an ancient Taylor and Ng low carbon cleaver: a fine cutting instrument but not for me. So I hit a chichi cooking shop in the market in Ottawa, hoping to score my favorite cheap knife: that cute L'Econome straight paring knife that I use for everything at home short of major butchering. (You know the one: about seven bucks, with a bright painted wooden handle. Seriously cheap.) The owner of the shop said they carry them, but sell out in two days because the crews at every restaurant in Ottawa snatch them up. But what should to my wondering eyes should appear: same knife, four times the size. It's sharp as a razor, cute as a button (I chose the yellow handle) and French, bien sur. Twenty four bucks CDN. I'm in love. And I can cook again. (My sisters have been threatened with dismemberment if they put it in the dishwasher.)

Speaking of Sysco, I'm in Ottawa, Canada now and see at least four Sysco trucks making deliveries to woeful pubs/bars/restaurants up here in the True North Strong and Free during my morning run to my mother's hospital room. (The "why can't you get decent food in Ottawa topic" has been discussed at length in the Canada forum. It's truer than ever. The remedy is: drive across the bridge to Quebec, where peeps of French descent still cook and eat.) But I'm really amazed at the dull, awful food -- and such small portions! Here, as everywhere, it's the customers who could drive this. This town is a capital city of a diverse western democracy, with assorted high tech millionaires and a pleasant and smart population. Every damn menu board is the same: soup/pasta/pizza -- cheap, easy to make and what people expect.The scents wafting out to the patios are identical. I might as well be eating at a third rate joint in Naperville, Illinois.

Done. (Because Ottawa is so close to Quebec I always lump it geographically in Montreal's sphere.) Cali: Bless you! After so seriouly ho hum Chinese from Cathay something last night your suggestions sparkle. (Light of India is five minutes away on foot, and I agree that the food is solid. Carry-out is just fine.) Greek on Wheels is going into the lineup -- in fact they all are. I'm interested in any and all cuisines, and my mother's house has the Asian spoon/chopstick/bowl thing down. Is there decent pizza in Ottawa? I always make my own, but time is of the essence here and my sisters have been making pizza noises.

My mother's sick, so I'm in my nation's capital helping my father out. I've been catering Mummy's meals to Elisabeth Bruyere and cooking for my sisters at home. This makes for a kitchen that looks like a car wreck for a fifth of the daylight hours. My sisters have uncomplainingly cleaned up behind me in the kitchen for, how long -- three weeks now? I'm declaring it Sister Appreciation Day, and I'd like to order dinner in tonight so Meg and Julie won't be scouring pots and pans. Any suggestions for good delivery/carryout? (I've got a car, but I don't know Ottawa that well.)

I have a friend whose son delivers pizza for a local chain and gets paid nothing by his employers -- he lives on tips alone. That doesn't seem to be the case here. In Illinois the minimum for waitstaff, busboys and delivery people is 3.90, and employers are required to assign tips to bring them to minimum wage, "Tips to Minimum" in payroll lingo. This doesn't happen. A lot. Waiters make out fine, but there have been several high profile cases in Chicago concerning buysboys being shorted scandalously. I'm sure this happens with delivery people too.

When you haul out the frozen ham (I agree, it freezes just fine!) try an Amish Ham Loaf with raisin barbeque sauce. Chop the ham in a food processor, add egg, onion and breadcrumbs a la meatloaf, bake in a bread pan. Invert on an ovenproof plate and baste with a molasses/vinegar/raisin/mustard/ketchup sauce. Slide into the oven and bake until nicely browned. Leftover sauce can be heated and served on the side.

Who could ask for better than that? I think the McCords did it up right, and I loved the pictures. (They also made me gasp. I met your kids, what, three years ago? They look so grown up!)

Take heart, other folks besides Lodge make cast iron cookware -- does Wagner ring a distant bell? And unless the folks at Lodge lose their minds and their marketing savvy, surely they'll continue to produce the 15 buck pan for the rest of us. Steven makes a great point about the longevity of the cast iron pan. I believe we're still digging up examples from the, well, Iron Age. If manufacturers can get this silly new product on the Wedding Registry at Bloomingdales or Crate and Barrel maybe the foolish young (or the upwardly mobile clueless middle-aged ) will spring for one ... rejoicing and high fives in the Boardroom.

I'm always up for unconventional stock-making methods -- for the home cook who needs only a couple of cups I've been apostolic about the 20 minute microwave treatment in Barbara Kafka's Microwave Gourmet. So when I read about Nathan Isberg's stockpot-in-the-oven method I got with the program yesterday night. I brought the stockpot to a boil around midnight, stuck it in the oven, finished watching a movie and headed to bed. Ten hours later -- I do not arise betimes on Sunday -- I pulled a gorgeous few golden gallons of chicken stock from the oven -- it was cooking at the gentlest of simmers, the Platonic Ideal of simmers. The result was a couple of gallons of tasty, clear, golden stock. I just love not watching a pot.

I had a similar bone-anza around Christmas. I was trying to make room in my freezer and found a whole hambone with much meat attached; it's the party favor I always get to take home after Easter dinner at my sister-in-law's. I made a couple of gallons of Senate Navy Bean soup with excursion to the depths of the freezer compartment. I suspect frozen bones have eternal shelf life.

I'm finding some fellow travellers here -- in fact I looked at my long-neglected garlic press yesterday and thought: "Crushing garlic: why is that so wrong?" I too prefer my pasta a tad past what goes as al dente in these parts -- it holds the sauce better. I think most fish taste better cooked than raw. And what's the deal with no cheese with fish, especially in pasta concoctions? Pfui. I love a little Parm on my spaghettini con vongole. After being browbeaten about the superiority of dressing over in-bird stuffing for years, I have taken my stand: It tastes better, folks like it better and that's the way it's gonna be in my house at Thanksgiving.

I finished reading the piece and I'm puzzled that anyone could say that Buford was being hagiographic. Although he mentions that outside the kitchen with a couple of beers in him Ramsay could be likeable, I think he drew a fine picture of a monster and borderline criminal. I have to say that the food sounded wonderful.